


(i’m cold, sick and i’m tired, so baby…) let me touch your fire

by kattyshack



Series: snowflakes [13]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, Drabble, F/M, Forbidden, Light Angst, Mutual Masturbation, Sexual Content, but it all works out, but not REALLY like they're in love so it's fine, implied happy ending, this is a drabble so i can't get into the deets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 18:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14753721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattyshack/pseuds/kattyshack
Summary: prompt fill (@amymel86; repost from tumblr): “modern au pseudo-sibling incest angst. jon is actually the starks’ adopted brother after being their foster kid that they couldn’t seem to say goodbye to. he and sansa keep skimming the line of flirting, as they’re meant to be siblings after all. maybe there’s some voyeurism/exhibitionism masturbatory activity.”(title from “let me touch your fire,” by a r i z o n a)





	(i’m cold, sick and i’m tired, so baby…) let me touch your fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amymel86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/gifts).



> a/n: this had some major, full-length oneshot potential, but i’m trying to practice my drabbles here so i hope this suffices! mayhaps i’ll add to it sometime, but go on and assume the happily-ever-after anyway bc it’s -me- ffs, HEAs are all i know

He shouldn’t want this.

But it doesn’t matter what he _should, should not_ — because he _does_.

And so does she.

Jon reaches over to push her mussed hair behind her ear. The rough pad of his thumb traces her jawline, and Sansa holds his hand there with her own. Fingers intertwining, flexing, grasping for one another so as never to let go.

Their other hands are occupied.

Jon’s heavy-lidded gaze falls downwards, to where Sansa’s fingers are picking up rapid thrusts inside her cunt. He groans when her breath hitches, and he fists himself harder, faster… He wants her fingers to be _his_ , wants to feel her pussy clench around him, _for_ him…

“Let me touch you,” he rasps.

Even as she shakes her head, he thumbs her lips apart so that her hot, ragged breaths crash against his calloused skin. “We can’t.”

It’s always like this — in her bed, in the middle of the night when no one will come looking for them, and she tells him _we can’t_ but they always, always do.

So Jon knocks her hand aside and replaces it with his own.

“So wet,” he murmurs, his words forever reverent when they’re in bed together. He leans in to part his lips against her neck, and rolls atop her, his hand caught between their throbbing, undulating bodies. “I get you so wet, don’t I, Sansa?”

“Yes,” she says on a gasp, her now-idle fingers twisting into his curls. “I’m wet for you — _Jon_ , always for you —”

She catches his answering growl, his wandering mouth, in a kiss. It’s hot and needy, desperate, fulfilling, everything he’s ever wanted…

And all he’s ever really wanted was her.

“We can,” he breathes as they pluck kisses from each other’s lips. His hand is still busy between them; it makes her back arch and his breath short. “Tell me we can, Sansa, tell me you want me to. Say you want me.”

“I want you,” she says, no hesitation to be found when they’re alone like this, when the pretense has been dropped and there’s nothing to stop them from wanting. “I’m yours.”

“Just as I’m yours, too.”

His free hand finds hers, to entwine their fingers anew. She clutches at him, holding him fast and tighter still when he makes her come. Jon trails his open mouth down her throat to her shuddering breasts, to suck a mark between her tits as she unravels for him, a mark no one else will see because they _can’t know_ —

But Jon knows. Sansa’s heartbeat thunders in his ears, her sweet sighs echo in his head, her hand clenches just as her cunt does, and it’s all for him.

_I’m yours…_

“Mine,” he whispers into her skin. His hips rotate into hers, his cock hard and aching for her. “You’re mine, Sansa, all mine.”

She hums in agreement, approval, the sound reverberating against his neck as she sucks his earlobe between those soft, pliant lips, and whispers back:

“Always yours, Jon.”

He shouldn’t want this — her fingertips tracing patterns on his skin, the lilt of her voice as she says his name, the inviting warmth between her legs, the scent of vanilla that lingers on his hands — but she wants him, too, and it makes it impossible for him to want anything else.

He slides down the length of her body, slowly, tortuously so, as he maps her curves with his tongue. A hand slips beneath her knee, coaxing it upwards so that he might leave marks there, too — dark, purple bruises that he sucks onto her sweet vanilla thighs, for only Sansa to see so that she might remember his head between her legs in the morning, until he can find his way back there in the middle of the night.

_Someday_ , he vows, someday he’ll find a way to love her in the daytime, too. But for now…

For now, Jon fastens his mouth in the apex of her thighs, and he tells her — voice deep and husky, well-worn from loving her, and muffled against her cunt —

_“I love you, sweetheart, and I’m gonna make you come.”_


End file.
